


Home (Is Wherever I'm With You)

by clarewithnoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Duelling, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, James and Lily are a disgustingly affectionate couple, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Sirius and Remus are nauseated by them but in a supportive way, jily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarewithnoi/pseuds/clarewithnoi
Summary: Lily is injured after a duel with Mulciber and Avery, and the Marauders each have different (yet equally Marauderish) ways of helping her feel at ease.Jily & Marauders relationship - because the Marauders take care of one of their own.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marauders & Lily Evans Potter, Marauders & Marauders, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	Home (Is Wherever I'm With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I'm on a bit of a roll with these Jily fics lol, not sure I've ever written so much in such a short period of time! (Not to mention the three drafts I have sitting and waiting to be finished...)
> 
> It is my head canon that James revels in annoying the boys with how ridiculously in love he is, and Lily is along for the ride on that one LOL.
> 
> Enjoy! (Title from that Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes song)

_I should be compensated for patrolling_ , thought Lily Evans as she flicked her wand defiantly at the two figures standing about ten feet in front of her in the corridor, and she certainly meant it as she dodged a hex before summoning a stunning spell that was quickly deflected to the ceiling. The two boys – Mulciber and Avery: brutish and impossibly evil – were advancing slowly, both of their wands drawn in anticipation, and Lily scowled as she was forced backward toward the large suit of armor standing unhelpfully in the corner. _Aurors get paid for dueling, don’t they?_ She mused, _they bloody well should – this is far too much work to be done for free._

That night’s patrol with Edgar Bones had been largely very dull before the duel began, and Lily thought bitterly that this was very much _not_ what she had had in mind when wishing for some degree of excitement to accompany the seemingly endless wandering around the dimly lit hallways of the school. Edgar was not particularly interesting to talk to, but she banished the thought quickly, because he had been the one to turn the corner first and (unfortunately for him, luckily for her) get blasted backward into a wall while she drew her wand and countered aimlessly into the dark hallway with not a moment’s hesitation. 

He was currently unconscious. She’d buy him something from her next trip to Hogsmeade as a thank-you.

Lily whipped her head to where Edgar laid prone on the floor, his left foot twisted at an unfortunate angle and wand sitting idly a few centimeters from his fingers. Aside from his ankle, he looked largely uninjured, which in itself was a miracle, considering the company they encountered. She took the briefest of moments to assess him but immediately regretted it, for in that instant a searing, burning pain shot up the length of her left arm, tearing muscle and sinew from bone, she was sure, ripping her robes and shirt apart and leaving her gasping, and for a second she was sure that this was _it_ , she was done for, she’d die in the dungeons without ever getting to say goodbye to anyone, just another muggleborn statistic to be reported in the _Prophet_ …

“Your boyfriend,” began Sirius Black, and Lily wasn’t sure she’d ever heard the term leveled at her with such fiendish glee before this very moment, “is going to go _barmy_.”

“He’s not going to go barmy, Sirius.”

The raven-haired Gryffindor troublemaker (Lily had run through various possible descriptors for him throughout the duration of their friendship: ‘disavowed heir to the Black family fortune,’ ‘devoted replacement love interest to her ceaselessly attention-seeking boyfriend,’ ‘he who possesses a confusingly sharp jawline,’ but none of them seemed to fit quite as well as the above) threw her an incredulous look from his languid perch in the small chair next to her hospital wing bed, his feet propped up at the edge of it where her own were tucked under the silken off-white sheets. 

“Got someone on the side, have you? Because you can’t possibly be referring to James Potter if you think he’s not going to have a conniption when he hears you’re in the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. James will be fine, because _I’m_ fine.”

It was true, she assured herself, she _was_ fine – sure, Mulciber had lobbed some sort of slicing curse at her that cut a gash nearly from her forearm to her shoulder (something _sempra_ , like _rictumsempra_ , the tickling curse, but obviously not the tickling curse for this did far more than tickle, but _what in Godric’s name was that spell?_ ) but it wasn’t on her wand arm, and she’d stemmed most of the bleeding with a quick _Episkey_ and managed to stay at least partially conscious for long enough to make her way to Madame Pomfrey, rivulets of blood dripping onto the marble floors like the trail of breadcrumbs from _Hansel and Gretel_ as she limped slowly onward. 

The key of it all had come at the end of the duel (as key elements in duels are wont to do), when she finally managed to open Mulciber and Avery’s defenses enough to blow them backward – too far, she knew because of their less-than-stellar marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, for them to get an accurate shot at disarming her. It was only then a matter of putting a strong enough body-bind on them for her to throw a temporary numbing charm on Edgar’s ankle and shake him awake so she could yell at him, _run, you idiot, go get a teacher_ _before the spell wears off_ and whip her head back to the two Slytherins in the nick of time to cast a shield against a horrifying stream of light, sickeningly red and powerful enough to blow her backward into the wall through her charm. Back aching and the slice running up her arm reopened and leaking a dizzying amount of blood, Lily hauled herself upward with a groan of, “Right, that’s about enough, then,” and stunned the two of them so thoroughly and with such long-suppressed anger – this was _her_ school, she would _not_ be frightened to walk its halls any longer, their blood supremacy bullshit be damned – that she wouldn’t be sure that at this moment, twelve hours later, they wouldn’t still be lying petrified in the basement corridor.

But, really, she was _fine_.

Sirius looked as though he wanted to comment, eyes blazing into the side of her head as she turned away from him and looked toward the door to the Hospital Wing, but he seemed to think better of it and chose instead to resume his previous occupation of picking the petals off of the singular flower he’d waltzed into the room with twenty minutes prior. 

He was using humor to deflect his own anger; this much she knew. It was very _Sirius Black_ to make quips and jokes to diffuse tension whilst simultaneously brewing multi-layered revenge plots in his mind. It was the duality of purebloods, she thought bemusedly, to be so in tune with appearances and so conniving in the shadows.

(In Sirius’s case, though, she loved him for it – not forcing her to recount her tale, to relive the trauma. It was like having a devious older brother, and it was something she cherished deeply.)

This train of thinking brought her to pondering her other favorite pureblood, who was not nearly so in tune with appearances, and especially so when it came to suppressing violent emotions. She’d reckon Euphemia was to blame for that, the wonderfully bombastic woman that she was, doling out opinions this way and that.

Lily knew in her heart of hearts that Sirius was entirely correct: James was going to go positively ballistic. Her boyfriend of four months was of the over-protective sort, and with the recent uptick in blood prejudice permeating through the halls of Hogwarts, he had been antsy about her safety if she left his sight for longer than a few minutes. Lily’s current residence in the Hospital Wing with a long, jagged cut winding up her arm and the phantom pains of some well-fired stinging hexes was, in short, the realization of James’s nightmares come true.

“…Alright, so he might go a bit barmy.”

As if conjured by her voice, a mop of unruly black hair stormed into the Wing, accompanied by a deep voice that bellowed, “where is she?!” at such a decibel that Frankie Meadowes, a second year with a raging case of Dragon Pox who was lying at the far end of the cavernous room, sat bolt upright from his peaceful sleep and murmured a disoriented and woefully slurred, “ _wazzat?_ ”

_Oh, it’s nothing, Frankie, just my boyfriend about to pop a blood vessel right in front of Madame Pomfrey. Go right on back to sleep!_

Sirius let out a low whistle, and he didn't even try to hide the amusement in his voice when he next spoke: “Merlin and Morgana, he’s positively on one. I’d reckon he starts having a go at Poppy if he doesn’t see you soon, care to wager?”

“Sod _off_ , Black.” Lily’s face was burning at the commotion her boyfriend was stirring as he strode hurriedly across the room. His head was whipping nervously back and forth, peering into each bed with a desperation that made her breath catch, the small flare of indignation that had been rising in her chest extinguished by the knowledge that he cared so deeply and so desperately for her that’d he’d rage on in such a ridiculous manner. 

She hadn’t meant to worry him, really, she knew he’d had a vital quidditch practice this morning so she didn’t want to bother him with any sort of trivialities that might detract from his focus on winning the house cup, and instead resolved to tell him about the incident after she was cleaned up and fully healed – and when he was no longer at a risk of falling off of a broom from a dizzying height upon hearing the news. But here he was, as agitated as anything, still donned head-to-toe in his muddy practice robes with dirt streaked across his face and his wand held firmly in his grip, as if he were prepared to curse anyone limping around the Hospital Wing who might stumble into his way. Lily looked toward Sirius in accusation – _I’m not sure_ how _you did it, but you did this, I’m absolutely sure of it –_ but he was whistling happily in his chair and taking great pains not to make any sort of eye contact with her.

_Ponce._

Watching James now, in the brief fleeting moments before he saw her and made his way over (and would probably shove Sirius out of the chair upon which he was sitting, but the git deserved it, so Lily would make no chastisement about such a flagrant disregard of manners), was fascinating. She sometimes forgot just how beautiful he was. He was a Michelangelo painting, all taut muscle and sculpted features, gaze piercing and eyelashes impossibly and frustratingly long over the galaxies of his hazel eyes. He was lean, yes, but fabulously strong; the kind of tonality of frame that came from training for one particular thing to the point of excellence, where you could tell how each and every muscle played its part in his successes just from a cursory glance.

Glasses askew from his haste, James’s stare finally landed on her – he all but sprinted to her bedside, taking no heed to Sirius’s legs as he pushed to be close to her.

“Ow, OW – Prongs, _watch it,_ those are my _legs!”_

Sirius was dutifully ignored.

_Good._

_Ponce._

James was busy cupping Lily’s face in both of his hands, his eyes blazing with a melee of different emotions vying their way for prominence. He drank her in like she was a dream, as if letting go of her meant sacrificing her image to the passing breeze, but at the same time she could see the fury bubbling underneath, the righteous indignation on her behalf fueled by the worry and vice versa. “ _Lily,_ ” he breathed, finally. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, and Lily was horrified to feel droplets of moisture hitting her skin.

“I’m alright, James, really—”

He was having none of it. “You’re _not._ ” His voice was firm and angry; the likes of which she rarely heard. “You’re _not_ alright.”

Lily pulled her boyfriend’s face to be leveled with hers, an attempt to get him to look into her eyes, which he did automatically. She was emphatic when she whispered to him: “I’m alright, James. Honestly.”

“I’m going to _kill them_.”

“You’re not going to—”

“ _No,_ ” he hissed, eyes still boring into hers, and Lily faltered. “No, Lily, I’m going to _fucking_ kill them, I swear, no one’s going to lay a hand on you ever again, not while I’m—"

Alright – so denial was not a winning strategy in calming him down. Humor, then?

“Er, I guess then maybe wait until after House Cup? I’d really rather not lose points because you’ve committed double homicide. Not even to mention that Gryffindor would lose its Quidditch captain, now, _that_ would be a nightmare…”

From beside her, Sirius barked a laugh. James simply stared at her as if considering the possibility of her proposal.

Right, then. Not humor either.

“Evans, for shame,” quipped Sirius, undoubtedly reveling in his best friend’s displeased confusion. “Go easy on the lad! He hasn’t the faculties yet to understand that you’re teasing him. Give the poor sod a minute or two – he’ll catch on eventually.”

James huffed, finally shifting his gaze over to the other boy, who was suppressing his laughter quite poorly indeed. “Next time you turn into Padfoot,” he warned, “I’m putting you in obedience school.”

“You act like my mother hasn’t been doing that for years.”

It was decided very quickly upon Lily’s discharge from the hospital wing that a game of exploding snap took precedence over any semblance of academia. There were only a few Gryffindors drifting in and out of the common room, most of them younger students tripping over themselves to grab textbooks they’d forgotten for class, along with the rare sixth year lounging about in a free period, so it was a choice moment for the loud and disruptive game. Lily, James, Remus, and Sirius sat at a small, wooden card table in a corner of the large room, with the latter having skived his Potions tutoring session to join the former three in their free time. 

Upon seeing her for the first time minutes earlier, Remus had been lovely and attentive to Lily’s injuries, gracing her with tips to keep the large cut (which was now mostly healed, thankfully) from scarring while pointedly not probing her for information on its origins. A good friend, he truly was.

James had calmed down for the most part, no longer in a rage so much as quietly seething in his more introspective moments – _why hadn’t he been there, why hadn’t he checked the map, why hadn’t he asked where she was before Quidditch practice…_ his thoughts were cut off by Lily herself, to whom he gave his full attention.

“James, you’re hovering.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.”

(He was, in fact, hovering. He’d look over at Lily about every five seconds, he was barely focusing at all on their game of explosive snap, and his hand was inching visibly toward the essence of dittany that Pomfrey had given him to apply on her arm in case there were any painful flare-ups.)

“Yes, you _are._ The only way you could be hovering any more than you are right now is if you were actually levitating a few inches off the ground.”

“And here I thought you liked how tall I am.”

“You’re absolutely invaluable when trying to hang Christmas decorations. Otherwise, I try not to take much notice.”

“Lies, slander, and fallacy – I happen to be quite sure that you like it when I pick you up!”

“I think that speaks more to your strength than your height, no?”

“ _Speaking_ of strength,” groaned Remus, who was leaning back in his chair and staring determinedly toward the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room as if willing a hole to open up and suck him right through to the roof. Intricate swirls of gold and red mapped their way from corner to corner, like celebratory ribbons were permanently fixated in the room’s décor, and it nearly made him chuckle out loud. How fitting, that, for the oft celebrating bunch that Gryffindors were. “I’m hoping that at some point I’ll be granted enough to deal with you two and your shameless flirting. Agrippa and Godric, isn’t this supposed to stop after the actual dating _starts_?”

“I second that!” Chimed in Sirius from his seat next to Remus.

James looked positively chuffed at the complaints; he was quite adept at spinning admonishments into glowing reviews of his character. “Woe are you two, chaps, because Evans and I are still in the honeymoon phase; and come _on_ – look at this face! How am I supposed to just sit here and not flirt with this _face?”_

He made a show of gesturing wildly to Lily’s person, which sent her down a long-familiar path of trying vigorously not to blush at his attentions.

“Funny thing, that. I’m actually familiar with what Evans looks like, and I’ve managed the feat myself for years now. Wouldn’t you say, Moony? Nary an inclination to flirt with Evans?”

“Let me think, Padfoot,” replied Remus flatly, tapping his chin and pretending to do just that, “nope. Can’t say I’ve ever felt particularly inclined.”

“Well,” murmured James, “you lot are certainly missing out.”

He then turned and, in a dizzying and vaguely nauseating display of ardor that would leave even Madame Puddifoot in a swoon, leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Lily’s with his eyes squeezed shut. She had to stifle a laugh but scrunched her nose and returned the gesture all the same, all the while completely certain that this was about ninety-five percent an attempt to wind up his mates and about five percent a genuine show of physical affection. She told herself that this was the very same logic she applied in reciprocating; it had nothing to do with the fact that he was so very pleasing to look at from very close up, just as much as he was at a normal length, and, to think about it, from very far away, and just about every variant distance in between.

There was a cacophony of activity around them, the noises of which consisted of: a series of loud crashes, cards flying about above the table, and a calamitous exclamation of “oh, for _FUCK’S_ sake—” that came at the heels of another person’s, “well, now, _what in the sodding—”_ and the happy couple looked up from their stupor to see Sirius lying on his back, still somewhat seated on his now-overturned mahogany chair, and Remus covering his eyes with his hands and looking slightly queasy as cards flitted down to rest, ever peaceful, on the table.

“I hate you both so much.” Growled Sirius, but he was primarily looking at James, who was grinning in triumph.

Unable to hold it in, Lily let out a giggle before she clapped her hand over her mouth. Winding them up was so _easy_ , sometimes, it was a wonder they hadn’t all gone into permanent hysterics by now.

Sirius rounded on her, eyes narrowed, and clambered up from the floor to reclaim his seat. “And _you,_ Evans. I expect better from you. I’ve lost hope altogether when it comes to Prongs, romantic sap that he’s always been—” ( _“HEY!”_ ) “—but you, oh sensible one? You’ve become just as bad as he is!” 

“Oh, please,” Lily’s expression was scrupulously deadpan, only undermined by her eyes alight and lips _very nearly_ betraying the mirth that lay beneath the statement, “the only reason I know he hasn’t been slipping me amortentia for the past year is that he’s so bloody awful at potions he could never make a proper brew.”

“Evans, how dare you!” Cried James, aghast and betrayed. “I’ll have you know that I’m fabulously and unreasonably wealthy, and I could simply be buying a recurring stock to keep in the Head’s office. You undermine my sense of forethought, truly.”

“Right, then. I’ve got absolutely no manner of proof at all. Quick – somebody save me from this imposter and whisk me back to Amos Diggory, where I belong.”

“ _Amos sodding Diggory—?!”_

Whatever diatribe James was about to embark upon was soundly interrupted a mournful groan from Sirius, who had begun to hit his head on the wooden table with a solid _thunk_. “Please, for the love of Merlin—” _thunk_ “—someone stop them already—” _thunk_ “—this isn’t banter anymore, it’s _torture_ —” _thunk_ “—just send in the Dementors and call it an evening, will you—”

The impact of his forehead meeting the solid oak was dampened as Remus slid a hand over the area on which Sirius was bashing his skull, and who was now attempting to hide his wincing as the appendage took the brunt of Sirius’s dramatics.

“The theatre of you all, I swear.”

Sirius lifted his head to send a murderous look her way (much to the relief of Remus, who was now massaging his hand under the table and grimacing openly) that did absolutely nothing to contradict her assessment, especially when it was compounded with the rapidly reddening welt on his forehead from its repeated encounters with the large table. _Theatrical_ , indeed.

“If you’ve got some finer entertainment for the evening, Evans, then off you trot!” He sniffed. Proud indignity looked at home on his features; a Black family heirloom. “We marauders have done fine without you for quite some time now! Am I right, lads?”

Remus blinked. James shook his head. Peter was not present but probably would have just looked toward what the other two were doing for his cue.

Sirius glared at the lot of them for a long, drawn out moment, before hissing his final words on the subject: _“bloody turncoats.”_

It was with a shake of her head and a laugh that Lily decided this was a good time to go and get some proper studying done. She’d missed her N.E.W.T. level Charms class during her stint with Madame Pomfrey this morning, and while Flitwick was certainly understanding of her circumstances, she’d rather not fall behind with so much more work about to pile on in the run up to exams.

Lily’s ascent from the table – despite the protestations of its remaining occupants, one of whom decried that he was “just teasing, Evans! Come back and entertain your boyfriend so we don’t have to!” – was interrupted by Peter’s entrance into the common room. He looked around before finding Lily, and he walked over to her with a timid smile on his face.

“Hey, Lily! I brought you this…” from his robe pocket, he procured a bar of chocolate undoubtedly nicked from the kitchens, and Lily couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her features. _The sweet, earnest boy he was_ , “…‘cos chocolate always makes me feel better, y’know, when I’m a bit down, and all of that.”

“Thank you, Peter,” she cooed and took the offering from his hands. It was a bit mangled and there were notable bites taken out of it, but really, it was the thought that counted. 

James often teased Lily that she had adopted a motherly sort of relationship with Peter since entering the Marauders’ world, but she just couldn’t help herself – he seemed to small and demure compared to the big personalities of the rest of them, what with Remus’s soul-baring kindness, and James and Sirius’s, well, _everything_. She saw sometimes that he’d trail behind the lot of them, staring in awe and acting more like a devoted fan than an equal, and Lily Evans never been the sort of person to leave someone alone in the dust.

(See: her years-long misguided friendship with Severus Snape.)

( _Git._ )

“Yeah, I hear it’s quite good after attacks and whatnot, I think…”

The word _attack_ seemed to send a chill down the collective spines seated at the table, and the three Marauders present shot Peter a look which communicated a clear message with differing levels of hostility per set of eyes: _maybe, try not to bring that up right now, Peter._ The boy’s eyes widened, and he promptly attempted to remove his foot from his mouth with scrambling hand gestures and an admirable try at elaboration.

“I mean—”

But Lily only laughed. “I think that’s more a trick for Dementor attacks, and I’ve not had one of those, but I do appreciate it either way.”

“How can you be so sure?” Pondered Sirius, “soul-crushing, ghastly to look at, drain the life out of you – I’d reckon a fitting description of Mulciber and Avery if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Lily took a brief pause to assess the lot of them: _James_ , who had fretted over her for the past six hours and begun making lofty promises about three-person-patrols (not ideal) and his spending every waking moment with her until graduation as a “necessary precaution” (more ideal), _Remus_ , who smiled at her softly and asked no unnecessary questions, yet was always ready to listen when needed, _Peter_ , who brought her chocolate and beamed at her attentions, and _Sirius_ , who was intent to make her laugh and who had welcomed her into the prestigious Marauders like the final missing piece.

Mulciber and Avery wanted her to feel unsafe in Hogwarts; they wanted her to feel as though this was not her home, she was not welcome here, like there were gilded bars keeping her out of the hallowed grounds. _Good luck, boys_ , she thought, and was unabashedly smug, _you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Please leave a comment, it motivates me to write! <3 
> 
> (Also, a note - Jily is the one relationship where I'm cool really leaning into the girl-gets-injured-and-guy-is-protective trope because it's just so CANON, but I want to make sure that she never comes across as a damsel in distress; because in my mind, Lily Evans Potter was NOTHING if not a warrior in her own right.)
> 
> I love this fandom so much lol!*
> 
> *but not you, Jo Rowling. Never you. Fuck yo transphobia.


End file.
